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Like A Snail

Timid, antennae touched,
you cower away into the twists
and turns of your burdensome home.
Come out said the crow,
I am proverbially hungry.
Proverbial? You question.
No! You shout and shrink even smaller;
crawling to the tiny white washed room
in the center of the curl,
pretending it is your sanctuary.

You peek out antennae circling like a periscope.
You move on slowly down the shady forest trail.
What if I am stepped on, you whisper.
You crawl away under a thorny bramble bush
then shrink back
into that tiny white washed room
in the center of the curl,
hesitant, trifling, and smaller still.

Beverly J Raffaele


------
"If you have the chance to sit it out or dance, I just say Dance." writen by Mark Sanders recorded by LeeAnn Womack


http://www.artspoetry.com
http://booksbybeverlyjraffaele.com


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